


The Wicked Never Sleep

by wordwhisper



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: M/M, Maycury Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-05 18:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20493374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordwhisper/pseuds/wordwhisper
Summary: 'God, your voice.’, Brian breathes and Freddie immediately recoils so sharply that he almost hits the opposite wall.‘My what?’or the Early- Queen Era 70s (sort of) AU in which Freddie’s a modern-day Siren, Trident is run by Apollo and nothing is as it seems. (inspired by lots of conversations andthispost)





	The Wicked Never Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to my love, one of brightest, most vibrant and beautiful human beings I can imagine who's changed my life in the last year in more ways than he could ever know despite my never actually having met him in person and who would have turned 73 years today. Mr.Mercury, this one's for you!

They’re in one of the run-down flats somewhere in the North of London, the kind that you can only reach through some obscure downstairs backroom and doesn’t have any name on the door-bell because no one’s quite sure who really lives there. Roger’s sitting on one of the ratty mattresses that have been pushed to the wall to make room, one girl perched on his lap and the other drunkenly leaning against his shoulder. The one on his lap is whispering something into his ear, one hand deliberately brushing down his arm and from the way Roger subtly shifts after a few moments Freddie can tell that she’s not going to get lucky. He can’t see Tim anywhere, but Brian’s just refilling his plastic cup at the table on the other side of the room. He smiles when he catches Freddie’s eye, a slow, deliberate curl of his lips that makes the girl beside Freddie almost step over her own feet. Freddie holds Brian’s gaze while he walks over, takes a sip of his own drink as he watches him make his way through the crowd. The music’s gotten progressively louder, a little scratchy from the old record-player it’s playing on, and it’s that point of the night where people who aren’t already busy finding some abandoned bedroom are drunk enough to actually dance.

“You could have brought me one, too, you know?”, Freddie grins when Brian arrives, “this one is disgusting.”

“It’s not that horrible, I tried it, too.”

"That’s because you have no taste.”

Brian doges a couple stumbling past them with surprising grace, but almost knocks the ugly porcelain dog off the cabinet beside Freddie when he tries to deposit his cup there. His lets his gaze drift back to Freddie after he side-steps another girl who narrowly avoids running into a lamp-stand on her way to the kitchen, his gaze suddenly intent.

“Is that so?”

“Obviously.”

They’re close now, Brian’s palm pressed to the wood beside his cup and the whole thing is so incredibly cliché, the same move guys have tried on him countless times. It should have been boring, predictable, but it’s Brian and somehow it isn’t. It’s exciting in a way he can’t remember it being for a long time.  
Brian keeps watching Freddie, one of his hands coming up to push a bit of hair away. He just lets it stay there for a moment, then drops it a little lower, running a finger along Freddie’s bottom lip. Freddie feels his mouth fall open slightly, eyes locked on Brian’s.

It’s absolutely terrifying and incredibly thrilling at the same time. No one would care. Brian probably wouldn’t even remember. The music playing doesn’t fit at all, fast and upbeat, but somehow it doesn’t matter. His eyes drift down briefly to Brian’s fingers when they come to rest on his waist, feather- light, but he doesn’t make any attempt to actually move or dance. Freddie feels his pulse throb against the press of Brian’s finger-tips and his whole skin feels overheated, almost painfully sensitive. His gaze rises to meet Brian’s again, his eyes bright and focused, and for a moment Freddie wants nothing more than to simply move just to break whatever awkward in-between state they’re in right now, but he can’t. Years of easy, practiced fear run through his head: He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s going to regret this. You’re going to regret this. Then Brian’s lips drag against his and Freddie’s mind erupts into sound, suddenly and overwhelmingly. He hears himself gasp, feels Brian’s mouth open beneath his. Brian’s mouth curls into a smile against Freddie’s at that, his hands coming to rest on Freddie’s waist to drag him closer, and somehow it’s that what finally snaps him out of it, makes him pull back a little with a hand on Brian’s chest to keep him from moving back in. Brian’s lips are damp, eyes already a little glassy and his chest is still moving rapidly beneath Freddie’s fingers although they’ve barely done anything yet.

“They could have seen us.”, he breathes, like that explains everything.

A couple making out is now sitting on the spot Roger had been in and Tim’s still nowhere to be seen, but they easily could have come looking for them, walked in on that. He’s not even sure why he’s thinking it, it’s not the first time he’s done this and it’s not like he’s afraid Roger or Tim would judge him, exactly, he wouldn’t be friends with them if he did, but it’s still there, almost automatically.

“I don’t care.”

“They never do as long as the hormones are raging.”

Freddie pushes away a little more until Brian’s hands slip from his waist, then turns to walk over to table on the other side to get himself a drink as well. He half-expects Brian to come after him or protest, but he just keeps looking at him with that same, loop-sided smile before he says:

“God, you’re beautiful.”

He’d heard that before, too.

It’d usually ended with ‘but I’m not really gay, you know that, right?’

*****

A girl is standing in the kitchen the next morning, hair falling wildly around her shoulders and feet bare. She’s in an oversized boy’s shirt, probably the first thing she came across on her way to the kitchen, and it’s pretty clear that she’s not wearing anything else beneath.

For a brief moment Freddie thinks that she might be Tim’s or Roger’s girl, there’s been a steady stream for the past few weeks after all, but then he spots the ‘67th congress of Astrophysics’ logo on the sleeve. It’s not the first time, either, and nothing’s even really happened yet but it still comes across like whatever the straight version of gay panic is and it’s getting incredibly annoying. To her credit, she at least has the decency to blush when she notices Freddie coming up beside her to get his cereal bowl, her hands tugging the shirt down a little.

“Oh hi, you must be one of the flatmates he’s told me so much about. I’m just looking for –”

“Left drawer, tea bags are on the top shelf.”

He pushes the fridge closed harshly before he heads towards the living room door.

“Put them back afterwards.”

*****

“I thought that might have been you.”

Brian leans against the window-ledge on which Freddie is perched but keeps a careful distance between them as though he’s not quite sure whether he’s still welcome here. It’s oddly satisfying.

“Are you going to follow that up or am I just supposed to guess?”

“That bad, huh?”

Freddie can feel him watching him from the side and he realizes that for the first time, there’s absolutely nothing left for him to push against. He knows there should be a reaction, something, but all he can think is that he wants this to be over.

“Just don’t please, okay? I don’t have time for this right now and it doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”

“Freddie –”

“No, I’m serious Brian.”

Brian visibly flinches at his name, probably because he’s not used to it from him anymore, but Freddie doesn’t stop.

“I’ve seen too much, come too far, to go back and be your guilty side-kick so don’t bother. It’s not going to matter, none of it.”

“You think that’s why – Seriously, I know I’m not perfect, but I’m not that much of an asshole. I would never do something like that, you have to know that by now.”

“I know them.”, Freddie says, sliding down from the window ledge without looking at Brian, “there are thousands of them, I’ve watched them, I’ve kissed them, he’ll I’ve even dated them. I’ve landed in bed with them at night and been out at three in the morning because that’s when their girlfriend came home from a night shift. You’re just one in a long line.”

It’s designed to sting, to make him run, but there’s absolutely no reaction. Brian simply looks at him, that same, carefully calculated look he’s seen him use on Roger when he’s drunk too much before he says:

“So you did want something.”

Freddie stops where he’s halfway towards the door, one hand already on the handle, to stare back at him.

“What?”

He instantly regrets it, because this is exactly what Brian wants, what they always want. To talk. Make excuses.

“That’s why you’re so angry, it doesn’t make sense otherwise.”

“Are you done?”

“She kept asking me who I was thinking about.”, Brian says after a few moments as though it’s the final, decisive argument and Freddie wants to scream, or throw something.

“And she was right.”

It’s harder than expected, not let himself be swayed by that like he did all those times before, but he manages it, probably out of that same, sheer stubbornness that made him take punch after punch in boxing class at school although he was the smallest there.

“I hope it was a nice one.”, he simply says instead.

Brian’s gaze follows him as he turns back around and pushes on through the door.

*****

It lasts about a week and three guys with varying shades of brown hair he picked up at a pub somewhere near their flat. He and Roger are closing up their stand on Kensington market for the afternoon while Brian’s unhelpfully lurking in the back strumming on one of the old guitars and waiting for them to finish up.

“We should really make you buy something, you know?”, Roger says at one point, “the amount of time you spend molesting those things you practically own them anyway.”

“That’s today isn’t it?”

Brian puts down the guitar and picks up a leaflet that’s fluttered down at his feet from the staple of fake-fur jackets Roger’s busy shoving into a box on the table. Roger’s gaze flickers to the paper briefly before he goes into the back to get the next one.

“Yeah, a guy came buy this morning and asked us if we could put some out. It’s a pretty new club two streets down. “, he calls back, “I’ve heard they’re decent, musically and the girls are supposed to be hot.”

“Have you ever been?”

“Not yet.”

Freddie shots Brian a pointed look from where he’s folding a stack of shirts and Brian meets his gaze calmly like he’s daring him to say no.

“What about tonight, then? It might be worth checking out as a venue, too, maybe they need someone.”

“Yeah, it might be worth it, actually.”, Freddie chimes in just to see Brian’s jaw twitch. Roger looks between them for a moment while he puts the last box away, his expression unreadable, but doesn’t say anything.

“Alright, we meet at half past seven.”

*****

“I’ll get you a drink.”

The hand of the guy he’d been dancing with slips to the small of Freddie’s back, his mouth close to his ear to be heard over the music, and Freddie just nods. They’ve been here for just over an hour and he could definitely use one.

“Wait here, I’ll bring them here.”

There’s a narrow staircase leading up to the second floor at the edge of the dance-floor and the whole interior is lit in a subdued, blue light, little, pulsing tubes of fluorescent liquid attached to the walls and ceiling with metal hooks. The whole place has a hazy, almost watery quality to it, silver straps of silk hanging from the ceiling at some points, broken pieces of mirrors molded into the concrete in others that add new effects to the lights. The bar on the left of the dance-floor is made entirely of dark glass with a mirror surface made from one piece on the top. Even the barmen’s uniforms are designed out of some reflective material, a waistcoat that ends just above the waist and white silk pants. Some have glitter on their cheeks and around their eyes, the girls black lipstick and matching, painted nails.  
Roger’s already got a girl on his lap on one of the stools, Brian leaning over the counter to talk to one of the waitresses.

“So a rock band, huh? That’s pretty genius, actually.”

Freddie almost jumps at the voice, head snapping around to the man who’d slid up behind him. Somehow, although it’s incredibly loud, Freddie can clearly hear him.

“Do I know you?”

He can’t be much older than them, with dark skin and hair and either never had a top or lost it at some point, only in a pair of jeans now. There’s a fine ring of light, almost white grey around his pupils and it’s glowing like the lights behind them, changing its shade slightly. At first Freddie thinks it’s an effect of the light but he’s never seen a color like that in nature.

“You really don’t know, do you?”, the guy asks when he sees Freddie’s expression, “He’s done an even worse job than I expected.”

“Did that work on anyone else?”

“I’m not trying to flirt with you. Yet.”

“Good, because that was horrifyingly bad.”

He ignores Freddie, taking a sip from his drink as simply watches him for a few moments.

  
They’ve gravitated towards each other and Freddie can see that he must have been dancing, cooling sweat glistening in the dip of his collarbones.

“What do you see?”

The song ends and they get pushed apart for a few moments as a group of girls stumbles in the vague direction of the bar. One of them has only one heel left.

“What do you mean, what do I see?”, Freddie asks once they’re gone. Out of the corner of his eye he can see his date raising his arm to get the attention of the bar-men so at least this is going to end soon.

“I mean right now, when you look at me.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Just tell me.” A pause, then he adds “Please.”

Normally he would have just left without even thinking about it, but something, Freddie’s not quite sure what, makes him stop.

“It’s a face, what do you expect me to say?”

“Nothing unusual?”

Freddie’s eyes immediately flicker back to the guys. They’re shimmering green around the edges now, flecks of purple dancing inside.

“Your eyes.”

“What about them?”

“They’re…glowing. Different.”

A smug smile dances around the corner of the guy’s mouth as though he’s just paid him an enormous compliment. He’s attractive, it suddenly hits Freddie, really attractive.

“Have you ever heard of Trident?”

Another group passes them, guys this time.

“Who?”

Without warning, the guy pulls him sharply towards him just as the next song starts, hands in the back-pocket of Freddie’s jeans. His skin is cold to the touch and slightly slippery like someone who’s been out in cold water for too long. Freddie’s about to shove him away when he feels him quickly slip something inside one of them before lets go and takes a calculated step back.

“Trust me, you won’t regret it. Tell them Damien send you.”

Then he’s gone.

“You alright?”

The guy from the dance-floor has come up at his side, one drink in each hand and gaze fixed on the other guy’s retreating back. He actually looks jealous, which is incredibly funny considering how weird that encounter had been. Freddie removes his hand from the back of his jeans and takes one of the glasses.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for this.”

*****

“He was just talking to me, what is wrong with you?”

“He was disgusting and five seconds from dragging you into the toilets.”

Freddie’s bag hits the side of the couch, grazing the edge of their coffee table and taking one of Roger’s tea dirty mugs with it that he hasn’t managed to wash up since last Sunday.

“Stop!”

He turns back towards Brian as he shrugs his leather jacket of and throws that in the vague direction of the couch as well.

“Just stop, right now. You don’t get to baby-sit me, or tell me what you do.”

“It’s called being a friend.”

“A friend?”

Freddie laughs, but it’s sharp and dangerous, the sound catching in his throat.

“A friend doesn’t humiliate the other. A friend doesn’t judge or act like an over-jealous boyfriend. ”

“So you’d really rather have let that absolute freak fuck you and God knows what else, just to get back at me? To piss me off?”

Brian immediately realizes that it’s the wrong thing to say and something in Freddie’s expression sharpens into something ice-cold.

“Actually, I’d have fucked him, at least that’s what he begged me to do before you came up if that’s alright with you.” He stops, the word carefully calculated like an insult and sickeningly sweet. “Darling.”

Freddie’s hands slide up the wall, Brian’s fingers curled around them as he moves his arms up his side and over his head, one of Brian’s knees between his legs. Their mouths part immediately, one of Brian’s hands letting go of Freddie’s wrists to slide up his leg until it’s pressed to his hip. Freddie uses the movement to push himself up against Brian’s body completely, both legs wrapped around Brian’s waist as Brian holds him in place with his hands beneath the back of his thighs. He’s surprisingly strong for how skinny he is, his grip firm without the slightest sign of effort. They’re too loud, especially for the fact that Tim or Roger could come back at any moment, but Freddie doesn’t care because he wants Brian to be forced to remember he’s not one of those girls he meets at Uni the whole time he’s doing this, be fully aware of what he’s doing and what it means. There’s no ‘but I’m not really a homo’ after this.

“You still don’t believe me, do you?”, Brian says after he’s worked down Freddie’s trousers and kicked them off the edge of Freddie’s bed and Freddie’s not sure whether he means being into guys or being into him specifically. He grins, eyes on Freddie as he leans down to press his mouth to his stomach just above his hipbones.

“I guess I’ll just have to show you, then.”

*****

Afterwards, Brian has the strange urge to pull on his clothes and leave, which seems ridiculous considering he’s in his own flat. It’s also most likely the smart thing to do since Roger and Tim, or one of them, are going to be back at some that night, and he’s not sure they’re quite there yet. When he shifts up from where he’d been resting his head on Freddie’s chest, one arm curled around him, Freddie doesn’t even look at him before he says:

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s easier that way.”

Brian stops reaching for his shirt at the tone in his voice, looking back at him, but Freddie doesn’t meet his gaze.

“You don’t regret it, tough, do you?”

“I guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

“What is that even supposed to mean? How do you - ”

“Just go.”

Brian just keeps staring at him, opening his mouth to say something else, and Freddie rolls his eyes as he pushes himself up onto his elbows.

“We’ll figure it out.”

It’s not exactly reassuring, but it’s good enough, for now. He’d never expected this to be easy. Brian pulls on the shirt, then tugs on the trousers that’d landed draped over the side of the bed while glancing back at Freddie who’s pulled on an old shirt as well.

“Go!”, Freddie repeats, but there’s a rough edge of held-back laughter beneath it this time, “Now!”

He accompanies Brian to the door, laughing properly when Brian sticks his head around the corner to check the corridor outside.

“We’re not at war, stop acting so weird.”

It’s completely dark apart from the naked bulb above the entrance door that they’d turned on at some point earlier and absolutely, totally quiet. The clock hanging on the wall opposite Freddie’s room shows it’s about to turn half past three in the morning.

“And by the way”, Freddie adds just as Brian’s about to turn away and start walking,

“If you tell them it sucked I’ll pretend none of this ever happened.”

*****

When they meet up at the cheap down-town breakfast-shop filial the next day Roger leans back in the booth he and Tim have been sitting in and levels a pointed look at Brian as soon as the waitress has bought their food.

“So, three questions: how the hell did you manage to find the time to pick someone up after that concert, where did you dump the poor guy this morning we were literally up before eight o’ clock and why did you never tell us. We could have adapted our wingman-strategy.”

Brian almost chokes on his coffee while Freddie just smirks beneath his sunglasses and leans forward to steal one of the blueberries on Tim’s pancake.

*****

“Here, try mine.”

Freddie holds out his chopsticks with the chicken masala he’s eating to Brian, the other hand beneath it to catch anything that might fall off. They’re sitting cross-legged on Brian’s bed, Brian still in his boxers and Freddie in one of Brian’s old shirts while the sun slowly starts to set behind the buildings at their side.

“It tastes a little different than it’s supposed to, but it’s still good.”

Something in Freddie’s voice makes Brian stop, but the moment he looks up at him Freddie’s face immediately closes off completely. Something in his jaw twitches and he physically draws back a little when he pulls back the chop-sticks, shoulders hunching.

“’Well?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”, Brian says, a moment before he starts coughing and has to scramble for the bottle of water they’ve put somewhere on the floor. His throat is still burning by the time he’s chugged down half of it while Freddie’s trying desperately not to laugh. He’s slowly letting himself relax again, one leg stretching out beside Brian’s.

“Come on, it can’t have been that bad.”

“Shut up.”

Freddie just laughs as Brian crawls over him and carefully puts his half-empty food carton aside before he uses his weight to gently push him down onto the bed, pinning his wrists to the sides of his head. He feels the vibrations mellow out against his lips when he drags them up his throat, the way Freddie’s chest starts to rise and fall faster. His mouth moves along his jaw, grazes his lips until Freddie opens his mouth and slides his hands down his back. He’s just got his fingers beneath Freddie’s shirt when the front door slams and he jerks back out of instinct more than anything else, burying his head into the crook of Freddie’s neck as he tries to catch his breath.

“This place is really terrible for privacy.”

“It’s not like we didn’t know that.”, Brian says, reluctantly moving off Freddie until he’s lying on his back beside him, their arms still touching between them. The hole in the ceiling from their first year is still there, yellowing on one side and a bit of the flowery wallpaper hanging down around it and there’s a new dap spot in the left corner.

“What do you like about them?”, Freddie asks suddenly, dipping his chin towards the physics papers scattered around them when Brian turns to look at him.

“Astrophysics readings?”

“The stars.”

“I don’t know it’s …”

He pauses, gaze sliding back up towards the ceiling.

“The more you learn, scientifically, the more fascinating they become, they more personality they get. They have their own moods, color schemes, environments, ways of reacting to certain outside influences. It’s almost like meeting a person.”

“Do you have a favorite one?”

“Saturn. Gorgeous, stormy, wild and incredibly interesting atmospheric conditions. And I wrote a really good paper on him at the end of the second semester.”

He’d grown up in a world of magic, filled with spices, ships and endless beaches, beautiful women, rainforests and snakes and the stories to match and Brian was the first thing since he’d come to England to remind him how much he’d missed it. The first thing to make him think that this place could be magical in the same way.

“So you are into astrology.”

“No.” Brian’s little finger traces idly over the back of Freddie’s hand between them. “Just a romantic, I suppose.”

Freddie has to fight really hard not to just grin stupidly. He pushes himself up and swings one leg over Brian until he’s straddling his hips, palms pressed to the bed on either side of his head while Brian’s hands come to rest gently, automatically on his waist.

“So, which one am I?”

Brian’s eyes flicker over his face for a moment very seriously, like he’s giving it actual thought, then he says:

“Mercury.”

*****

Freddie’s sitting perched on the edge of the table beneath the only window in the tiny launderette, legs crossed beneath him. Brian’s noticed how he always seems to do that, seek out the slightest hint of sun with his face tilted up and eyes closed like he’s never getting properly warm. A piece of paper with a few swipes of black curls and a sharp nose and eyebrows where he’s started to draw Brian and a black coal pencil are lying forgotten next to him. It’s Sunday afternoon so it’s relatively quiet, only two other students with bleary eyes from the weekends’ lack of sleep collecting their load in the back. Both are in sweatpants and a ratty shirt and one of them has just stripped off his to throw it into the next wash.

“You should actually sing, you know?”, Brian say suddenly, slapping shut the mathematical theory book he’d brought with him. He’s not going to get much more done today anyway.

Freddie’s eyes drop down to his and he arches a pointed brow at him.

“What, you screw me and suddenly you want me in the band?”

“No, I’d never -”

“And I already have a band who actually want my input.”

He shifts from his position until his legs are dangling from the edge of the table, watching the guys in the back.

“At least try. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Freddie snorts, the fingers of his right hand softly tapping against the table. Brian’s not even sure he notices it, but it’s something he does often as well and it’s to deliberate not to have any thought behind it, like he’s hearing a tune he needs to catch immediately before it’s gone again.

“And I thought you two didn’t get more arrogant than you already are.”, he says after a few moments, gaze drifting back to Brian.

“It’s not arrogance. You’ve wanted this for almost two years, it’s not worth it not to at least give it a shot just because your pride is hurt.”

“My – You know what, I don’t even know why I slept with you in the first place, you’re obviously –”

Brian steps into his space and it immediately, embarrassingly makes the worlds trail off and his lips part in anticipation. One of his hands come down to gently spread Freddie’s legs further until he’s standing between them.

“What do you say?”, Brian asks again, lowly, breath playing over Freddie’s lips.

“Don’t you have to ask Roger?”

“Do you really think he’d say no?”

“He already did, remember?”

Freddie feels Brian’s lips graze his and his eyes flutter shut around an exhale. He fights to keep still and not let himself chase the sensation, he doesn’t want to give Brian the satisfaction yet.

“I’ll convince him then.”

It’s low, purposeful in the way that conjures up something else entirely from what he’s actually saying.

“I can be very convincing.”

Freddie gasps just as Brian moves in, sure of having won, but he dodges his mouth at the last moment, eyes still closed.

“We’re going to need a new name, too, then. Learn how to make music together.”, he whispers, “I’m not just going to copy your old songs.”

“Done.”

“Really, you’ll just convince him of that as well?”

Their bottom lips catch, the barest of touches.

“What are you doing tomorrow at three?”

“Class.”

“Five?”

“Sounds manageable.”

Another brief slide, a little longer this time. Brian feels Freddie’s breaths against his mouth with every word, can hear them getting more labored.

“The auditorium then.”, he says, “at five. I’ll bring Roger.”

Freddie just nods as he slowly nudges Brian’s lips again and they finally meet for a proper kiss, Brian’s hands caging him in on the table.

*****

He’s actually nervous, which is ridiculous, considering it’s Roger.

They do it again, a few days later. Then again, the week after that.

*****

At first Brian thinks it’s a natural effect of what happened, that weird hormone-induced connection everyone keeps talking about. It feels like something momentous, some kind of big change should happen, at least. But in truth it’s subtle, barely noticeable - the push and pull of two melodies, a harmony held a little longer, the barely-there graze of a chord in the near-silence just as Brian’s solo hits. Freddie always has his back to him, his eyes closed and completely lost in the movements of his hands, but Brian can hear the twist of his mouth and the furrow of his brows in the tone of his playing and the way he hits the keys. They have whole arguments in the space between one note and the next.

It’s absolutely terrifying.

*****

“The other band dropped out for next Saturday so they offered us the gig instead. It’s a pretty decent club, and it’s got a reputation for people with actual connections hanging around there.”

Freddie’s at the kitchen table with one of Brian’s old guitars while Brian’s opening the cabinets looking for a glass that isn’t either dirty or in danger of breaking apart as soon as he touches it. Roger’s at the counter pouring milk into his cereals.

“That’s what they said about the last one, too.”, he says, pushing the last door closed when he’s finally found one and straightening up, “You never know, otherwise everyone would do it.”

“It’s still better than what most of what we had so far.”

“We had a recording contract, Roger.”

“I’ve always wondered, how come you never got the demos?”, Freddie joins in suddenly, “They must have done something with them, right?" He can hear movement in bathroom on the other side of the corridor, the low sound of the shower being turned on. Roger caps the milk, walking towards the fridge to put it back.

“Probably. But it doesn’t really matter now anyway, does it? It’s one with you we’d need.”

“How much are they going to pay?”, Brian asks from where he’s moved on to making coffee on their little, second-hand machine, hip propped against the counter.

“20, if we’re lucky.”

“That’s barely going to cover expenses.”

“They’re not going to negotiate, it’s a standard price. They’re putting the posters out tomorrow, so we have to decide quickly.”

“When are we supposed to be going on?”

Freddie puts the guitar down to get the tea he’d left to brew on the window sill.

“Half past ten, there are four others before us.”

“Good ones?”

“Yeah, they’re decent, I saw a few last month. The Peppers have an incredible guitarist.”

“Well, we have a great one, too.”, Freddie smirks, “And you have me. No one’s going to top that, darling.”

“Wow, still modest.”, Tim who’d just walked through the door chimes in. He still smells like fresh after-shave even from Freddie’s place on the table. “Do you even have a new name yet?”, he asks, reaching over Brian for their package of toast.

“We’re working on it. And what can I say, darling, if you’ve got it…”

Even though Tim’s got his back to him as he puts the toast into the toaster, Freddie can tell he’s trying very hard not to laugh. Brian grins at Freddie over the rim of his cup, a giant, pink one with a Mickey Mouse on it his parents had given him when he’d move in, and Roger immediately rolls his eyes. He’d figured out what was going on pretty quickly even though they’d never actually told him anything and Freddie’s grateful that he hadn’t asked any questions so far. He’s not sure if he could answer them himself right now other than that it’s good, and stupid and exhilarating and he’s got no idea what he’s doing.

*****

Freddie shots a look at Brian, still sleeping half-draped over both sides of the bed and one arm stretched out where it’d been curled over Freddie. His mouth is slightly parted and sunlight is playing across his cheek and the naked curve of his back, the blankets pooled just above his hips. The curly swipe of his hair is spread over the pillow around him, the dark brown a stark contrast against the white of the fabric.

It’s a good view to wake up to. He leans over to get his trousers that’d ended up somewhere on his side of the bed, careful not to wake Brian, and pulls the little note the guy at the club had given him from the back-pocket.

**The Yellow Submarine Book-Shop**  
** Notting Hill, London**

He’d taken it out and read it several times over the past few days.

Maybe it’s time he tried a little more.

*****

It doesn’t just have books, there are spices, self-made liquors and beauty potions in pastel colors, too, complete with an old brass doorbell above the entrance. A girl is doing her make-up in the mirror in the back, probably his age as well, pulled-back, blonde hair, red lipstick and a flowery dress. Her name tag reads ‘Mary Austin’. She caps her eyeliner when he walks in, giving him a once-over in the mirror.

“You’re … not what I expected.”, Freddie says stupidly, because she isn’t. None of this is what you’d expect a young girl to be interested in, it even a section on bloody knitting and Sunday roast receipts.

“Oh look, it’s sexist.”

A cat brushes past Freddie’s leg and jumps onto the counter in the back.

“That’s not –”

“Was it Damien?”

“Yeah.”

He follows her with his eyes as she walks over to the cash register and puts her utensils in a bag there. The cat immediately comes up to her, rubbing her body along her arm to get her attention and purring.

“Who is he? How do you know him?

“Do you know who runs that club? Why it’s called The Aquaria?”

Another, smaller cat with red fur who’d been dozing on a pillow on the shelf with the potions spots Freddie and jumps down, pushing her nuzzle into his hand when he crouches down to pet her.

“How do you know I met him in a club?”

“Because it’s where he usually is on a Saturday night and you look like his type. We also text.”, she adds as she pushes the bag somewhere beneath the counter, “Who’s Brian?”

Freddie stops petting the cat to look at her.

“Why?”

She walks over to one of the shelves and pulls out a few books from the top one, grabbing a book from the second row before she places the ones in the front back as the cat continues to hover around her legs.

“Here, this is going to be all you need.”, she says as she presses it into Freddie’s hands. It’s an old, illustrated edition of Homer’s Odyssey with painting of Odysseus listening to the Sirens tied to his ship-mast on the cover. “Bring it back when you’re done, we’ll talk then.”

*****

He reads the book in a few nights, Brian sleeping next to him.

He still doesn’t believe her, exactly, but there’s a kind of nagging feeling he can’t shake, something stirring deep down that’s impossible to push away now that he’s started to think about it.

*****

The gig after which it happens is in a little pub on the other side of London somewhere where their dressing room is an old supply closet next to the kitchen and they have to change in between half-empty alcohol bottles, cleaning supplies and old pans that have never been cleaned properly. Still, despite that and the fact that it’s one of the smaller gigs they’re played, barely a crowd of a hundred, it’s one of those incredible evenings that only happen once every few months during their little tours, if at all. It’s far better than he, than they all expected from that Saturday night.

As seemed to be constantly happening lately, Freddie and Brian had gotten distracted while putting the instruments back in the truck and Freddie’s ended up on top of Brian on the cramped floor, a box digging into his thigh. It’s more than he expected from whatever it is they’re doing at this point, either. He’s shifted to settle in between Brian’s legs and Brian’s hand have started to wander over his stomach beneath his shirt, his lips opening against Freddie’s around a low, desperate gasp. The door is still open and Roger and literally anybody could walk past and see them right now, but Freddie can’t bring himself to care. It makes it a lot more interesting, actually. Freddie’s elbow knocks against John’s bass next to him as he moves his mouth to graze the corner of Brian’s, stopping to just pant against his jaw for a few moments, hand pressed to the metal beside Brian’s head.

“Your _voice_.”, Brian breathes, and Freddie recoils so sharply he almost hits the wall on the other side. His chest is still heaving, but Brian’s voice sounds so unnaturally dazed that all he can feel is a sudden, sickening weave of nausea.

“My what?”

“Didn’t you see them? You could have had the whole room if you wanted to. You did have the whole room.”

His stomach clenches again, painfully, insistently.

“What are you talking about?”

Brian pushes off the floor with a breathless, little laugh.

“Come on, this is just fishing for compliments now. You’re not blind, right? And even if you were, you must have heard that, felt that, too.”

“Felt what, Brian?”

It makes Brian finally stop short, his expression still a little dazed but his eyes a little clearer now, brows drawn together.

“Are you okay?”

Freddie chuckles, broken, almost hysterical little sounds and Brian’s frown deepens.

“No actually, I’m not.”

He reaches for the jacket he’d thrown over a box somewhere, then starts randomly pushing other things back into the bag beside him without looking who they belong to. Most of them are probably Roger’s.

“What are you doing? Do you need me to –”, Brian starts, but when he tries reach for a shirt Freddie takes another few steps back.

“Seriously, what is this about?”

“Nothing you need to know right now.”

“Well, it feels kind of personal.”

He feels Brian’s gaze on him as he pushes the last two shirts in and pulls the zipper.

“It isn’t.”

“Then what is it?”

“Look, just – not now, alright?”

Freddie slips the jacket on before he slides the bag onto his shoulder and Brian barely avoids being slapped with it in the process.

“Not now.”

He doesn’t even really know where he’s going to go, just that he needs to get out of here now. The suffocating feeling is overwhelming, another weave of nausea pushing up his throat so hard that he has to brace himself on the box for a few moments. Brian’s immediately at his side, disregarding the look Freddie shots him and the fact that he moves away again.

“Freddie, you’re obviously not -”

“I told you I’m alright. See you tonight.”

*****

The only chance Freddie has of finding out whether he really did make this all up is the address he found in the back of the book the girl gave him - John Delaney, Head of A&R, Trident Productions. It’s almost like they’re sending him on some kind of weird scavenger hunt, seeing how far they can push him and it’s working. It’s absolutely maddening.

*****

It’s a standard office somewhere in a Soho-backstreet, complete with half-dead plants on the window-sills, gold discs on the wall, an astray full of cigarette stubs and shabby, mint-green chipboard furniture. There’s even a framed picture beside the phone of a beautiful woman with freckles and red lipstick holding a little girl on her hip that has the same wild, blonde hair. The guy’s got his feet propped on the table, casually flipping through a magazine with a glass of scotch perched precariously on the edge beside him. He’s wearing well-fitting, black designer suit, but the buttons of his shirt are only half done-up, a sliver necklace dangling in the dip between his collarbones, which kind of ruins the intended seriousness of the look.

“Who are you?”

He looks up at Freddie briefly over the rim of his glasses before immediately returning to his magazine.

“I think you know.”

“What do you want from me?”

“You know that, too.”

He’s very tempted to just take the guy’s drink and down it, anything to see how far he can push him until he ticks, get a proper reaction. It’s been a long time since anyone got under his skin like this.

“Do you really think I’d be here if I did, darling?”

“Honestly?”

The guy finally puts down the magazine, reaching for the cigarette that’s smoldering in a gap of the ashtray.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you want to know who you are.”

The smoke hangs thickly in the room, catches in his lungs.

“Who I am?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, it’s not going to work.”

He leans forward to tap a bit of ash into the tray as he grins at Freddie and its feral, sharp, pointed teeth and blood beneath his breath.

“Seriously though, a fucking rock band?”

“Well it doesn’t seem to have mattered, does it?”

“Yeah, you’re ridiculously incompetent, I’ll give you that.”

“Incompetent?”, Freddie snaps, his voice breaking with the force of it. He has to clench his fits to keep from physically punching him. “They’re eating out of my hands, isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?”

The guy doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, doesn’t even flinch, but then again he’s the head of A&R of what looks like an at least mildly successful production company, he probably deals with this several times a day. He stubs his cigarette out although it’s not even half-smoked and leans back in his armchair, a monstrous,  
black leather thing.

“Alright, here’s the breakdown: You’re a siren, which means you’re one of the most powerful beings on this earth right now provided you figure out how to use that power so it’s my job to make sure you do and do it properly. Your basic asset, as I’m sure you’ve noticed or remembered from your high school literature classes is your voice. It’s the way your power is able to affect other people.”

“How?”

“Captivate them, draw them to you and use that attention once you have it.”, the guy says flatly, “I thought she made you read the Odyssey.”

“So we’re all basically murderers?”

“Who said anything about murder? There are much more interesting and profitable ways to push people around who’re going to do anything you want.”  
He watches as the guy reaches for a staple of documents at his left and starts to sort through them. There’s a half-empty glass of whisky standing beside them, the bottle tucked behind a pile of records a bit further down the desk.

“What if I don’t want that? Any of that?”

“Yeah, well I don’t want to be looking after your drama, nobody’s asking.”

“I’m serious.”

“Me too.”

He tugs out a few lose papers, quickly skimming over the pages.

“There’s nothing you could possibly offer me.”

“Not even a recording contract?”, the guy says with a sickening, smooth quirk of his mouth. He pushes the papers across the table towards Freddie, “I am a record company executive, after all.”

Freddie feels a surge of fierce, white-hot rage building inside him, brimming just beneath the surface and the guy’s smile widens when he sees Freddie’s hands clench in his lap. It’s exactly what he wants, Freddie realizes.

“I’m not going to get this because of whatever this is that’s happening.”, Freddie says, every word clipped to wound, “I’m going to get it because I’m good enough. Because we’re good enough.”

The guy is still smiling.

“Somehow I doubt your band-mates would agree. What would they say if I told them that you’d ruined their chance at finally actually getting somewhere?” Freddie’s nails dig into his palms, hard.

“It’s not going to be their only chance.”

“Do you know that for sure? Can you?.”

He puts his fingers back on the paper casually. Taunting.

“You know, if I’ve learned anything from my time in the music business is that, no matter who or what you are, it’s not always about talent. Sometimes there are people with absolutely breathtaking, earth-shattering, world-class voice who don’t get picked and then someone absolutely mediocre hits the right buttons, smiles the right way and they make it. Sometimes someone needs a shot to develop their full potential and would have been phenomenal then, but no one’s willing to give it to them.”  
The fingers disappear, and he pulls another business card out from somewhere, grabs a pen and starts to scribble something onto the back.

“Do you really want to ruin that for them?”

He puts both the pen and the paper on top of the contract, finally looking at Freddie again.

“Tell them, I told you to tell them we’re interested and to be at that meeting if they want to know more. I won’t force you, but I suggest you at least think about it.”

Tuesday, 20 July, 10.38, is written on the back.

Freddie gets up without saying anything else, pushing the chair back harshly.

“You can’t run from this”, he hears John say just as the door is about to close.

“You have to choose, one way or another.”

*****

Brian’s still in the kitchen waiting when Freddie gets back to the flat, the soft thud of music coming from Roger’s room across the hall. He opens his mouth to say something, but Freddie just drops his bag and shakes his head.

“Not how.”, he breathes. “Just…”

He crowds Brian against the counter, hands on his hips.

“Kiss me. Please.”

Their lips find each other blindly, barely sliding against each other.

“Just kiss me.”

*****

“So what’s going on?”

They’re facing each other on the bed in Brian’s room, naked legs tangled beneath the blanket. Brian’s eyes are dark in the dim light, his skin glistening with cooling sweat, and he’s still panting a little, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

The pad of Brian’s thumb is running along Freddie’s chin, gently tracing the line of his jaw.

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“No. Not about this.”

“Good.”

Brian’s lips twitch, just slightly, as his hand drops back to the covers between them.

“Roger and I met someone last night, by the way. His name is John, he’s studying electrical engineering and had a band called The Opposition up until he left for University. He seems like a really nice guy.”

“Did he read our creative note?”

“No, one of his flatmates did. He’s also in one of Roger’s classes and kind of dragged John and another, female friend along tonight and introduced them to us.”  
Freddie rolls onto his back, hands splayed on his stomach. The damp spot from first year is still there on the top right corner of Brian’s ceiling, covered with little cracks where the paint has peeled off.

“Is he good?”

“It’s not like we have an abundance of other options right now. And he wants to meet us.”

“What did you say?”

He turns to look at Brian as he props himself up onto his elbow, watching him quietly. Someone passes in the corridor in front of their room, laughing, probably one of  
Roger’s friends who hadn’t made it home after the party.

“Next Wednesday in our practice room.”

“Alright.”, Freddie smiles, his hand moving up to brush a bit of Brian’s hair back from his forehead, “I’ll be there.”

*****

John turns out to be more than simply nice in the way you can find so often.

He’s got an almost unfairly pleasant, calming presence with a quiet sense of humor beneath that Freddie can tell he’s going to have a lot of fun with. It takes less than three songs for them to notice that he’s actually amazing, too, playing with the kind of laid-back ease that has a lot of practice and a good deal of talent behind it.  
“Don’t worry, they like you.”, Tim says after the rehearsal as he watches Freddie bring over a cup of coffee to where John is sitting on a bench while Brian and Roger talk in front of the door.

He’s not wrong.

*****

The worst thing is that it makes you paranoid.

They’ve build up a small and pretty loyal fanbase by now, starting from what had already been there when Tim left, so screaming and people going wild isn’t unusual per se. Especially Roger seemed to have an irresistible effect on the girls. But now that he’s started to think about it, it’s setting him on the edge because, theoretically, there’d be no way of telling the difference between normal concert behavior and the supernatural effect his voice is supposed to have. The crowds getting gradually bigger suddenly becomes threatening. The first rows stretching their hands towards the stage becomes suffocating. Brian looking at him from his side of the stage with his mouth parted and long fingers moving slowly over the strings like they’re buttons he’s undoing becomes sickening.

It changes the way he feels on stage, about all of this and Freddie hates it.

*****

Freddie goes back to the book-shop a few days later, but it’s empty.

The assortment inside looks mostly the same apart from a few new items, but the cats are gone, the walls are completely re-painted in a gentle yellow and green and instead of the girl there’s an elderly lady in gold-rimmed glasses knitting behind the counter. It almost looks like none of it had ever really been there at all.

*****

“That was not bad, congratulations.”

The guy slides into the seat next to Freddie at the bar with effortless grace, signaling the waiter over.

“The back-rows especially were going wild, you don’t see that often.”

“I noticed, yeah.”

He’s got long, reddish hair and a kind of warm, almost golden tone to his skin Freddie’s never seen before. What stands out most, though, are his eyes. They’re a stunning shade of dark blue and there’s a sharp, restless intellect behind them, the kind that can win wars and takes your wife home at the same time.

“What would you say if I told you I could help you?”

“I know for a fact that there wasn’t anyone even remotely close to a record company or anything similar here tonight, so probably to fuck off.”

  
Instead of being offended the guy smiles, delighted, the kind that feels too intimate for a place like this and the fact that they barely know each other.

  
“Who said anything about recording?”

Freddie just takes a sip of his drink, a silent challenge for him to say more or leave.

“They weren’t there when you went back, were they?”

That makes Freddie look at him properly, fighting to keep his expression even. His hand curls around the glass, hard and every instinct tells him to get up and leave. It doesn’t really matter, though, does it? If they’ve found him here, they’ll find him somewhere else, too. And he’s sick of running. Of not knowing.

“I’m Odysseus, I believe we’ve already met a few thousand years ago.”, the guy says with a quick smirk, “God, you’re still hot.”

His gaze wanders over him with much more open appreciation and intent than the girl’s hand and Freddie has the instant, automatic urge to tug down his top. He smirks back instead.

“You couldn’t handle me, darling.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t really care anymore, to be honest.”

The barman finally appears and Odysseus quickly orders a beer before he turns back to Freddie, shifting so he’s full-on facing him.

“Well, you should. They’re dangerous and how they know exactly where you are.”

“How do I know you’re not one of them?”, Freddie asks, tapping a painted fingernail against his glass. The guy smiles again, that same, strangely intimate thing like Freddie’s just unwillingly fulfilled some big, hidden phantasy he’d always wanted to live out.

“Fair point.”, he says, taking the pint the waiter offers him with a quick ‘thank you’, “And honestly, you probably won’t until it’s really down to it.”, he adds once he’s gone, “You’ll have to trust me first.”

“I think you’ll have to find a way to earn that.”

“How?”

The thing is, Freddie’s not really sure he can. Too much still doesn’t make sense, and he’s still got absolutely no way or idea how to navigate this thing he’s stepped into. He takes a sip of his drink and watches the guy’s gaze follow the movement of his throat when he swallows.

“Who are they and what do they want?”, he finally asks, “they were the ones who send me to John Delaney, why should they do that if they’re trying to work against him?”  
Odysseus’ eyes snap back to his, hand moving to absent-mindedly grip his drink.

“It’s not that simple. They’re children of Morpheus, the great sleep and own pubs and clubs all over the city to lure people in, more or less drug them and keep them there for as long as possible, so technically, you’re competitors in the same business.”

Freddie can’t help it, the whole thing is so bizarre he just gapes at Odysseus and wonders if he realizes how absolutely ridiculous that sentence just sounded. Odysseus doesn’t seem to notice.

“You’ve tended to stay out of each other’s way for the most part, but it’s not always worked especially in the big cities. And they’re much better organized, so if there’s any serious trouble they tend to end up winning it. The girl you met is one of the pupils of their leader here in London, so far we’ve counted ten of them that are going to take over as the new elite at some point. She looks to be the most promising so far. But what concerns you is -”

“Is this supposed to be a joke?”, Freddie finally interrupts him.

Odysseus trails off, looking at Freddie with a mixture of confusion and the carefully blank annoyance of a school-teacher at the end of his last four p.m. class. It’s oddly satisfying to see his calculated coolness slip, even briefly.

“No, what – were you even listening?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m asking.”

Odysseus just ignores him this time, putting his elbows on the bar with his hands around his drink like he’s cradling a cup of tea.

“Have you ever been to Biba?”

“The fashion-store? Yeah, I love them, why?”

“That’s their headquarters. They own three of the stores.”

“You know what, this is ridiculous. I’m not going to listen to this.”

Freddie puts a bill on the bar to cover the drink, then pushes his chair back. Odysseus hand shots out towards Freddie’s wrist and for a moment Freddie thinks he’s going to hold him back, but it drops to the counter between them instead.

“You know I’m right.”, he says just as Freddie’s about to slide down from the stool, “You have to.”

“What do you want from me?”

It’d been John’s first concert since he’d joined them and he’s somewhere in the back with Brian and Roger talking to a group of girls. Brian’s got his arm around him, a beer in the other, and is laughing at something one of the girls is saying. Freddie should be there, too, celebrating, not talking to a weird, modern rendition of Homer’s wet dreams.

Or an actual one, whatever.

“Is it so hard to believe that some people actually just want to help?”

“I told you, I can handle myself.”

Odysseus follows the flicker Freddie’s eyes to the group behind him, quickly looking them over before his gaze lands on Brian. It stays there with a strange kind of intent because it’s neither cold nor really checking him out, then he’s pulling a paper out of his pocket and writing something on it.

“And the only way you could help me is to make this whole thing stop, which is apparently impossible, so again, no thank you.”

“Well, if you do decide that you need someone to talk to, use this.”

He slides it across the counter next to Freddie’s drink. Freddie downs the rest of the cocktail and he doesn’t know why, really, but after he puts it back he reaches for the piece of paper and tucks it into the back-pocket of his jeans.

He’s about to get up when Odysseus suddenly speaks up again.

“If you really want to know, there’s one Siren who tried and survived.”

He turns around, fingers braced on the barstool.

“Who?”

Something passes across Odysseus’ face for the briefest instant that makes Freddie wonder just how close he and that girl were, then he simply says:

“Your mother.”

*****

It’s sometime past four a.m., the party just winding down outside.

A few people have already passed out on the floor with a few blankets and sofa cushions, one of them with his arm around a half-empty bowl of chips. The guy who’s living in Roger’s old room is somewhere out of town for the weekend, visiting his family, so he’s been allowed to sleep there for the night, John on an old mattress somewhere in the corridor and Brian on the couch. Freddie’d agreed to take the smaller one, pushed against the window in the back.  
He’d locked the bathroom door once the last snogging couple had left, reaching down to pull his blouse off and change into one of Roger’s friends shirts. It’s a little too big, the guy is closer to Brian’s size than his, but it’s going to work for the one night.

He spots a toothbrush that’s still packed in one of the plastic cups on the board above the sink and takes it, squeezing some toothpaste onto it from one of the tubes laying around on the cabinet on the right. His eyeliner has smeared a little during the light, his hair wild around his cheeks and the shirt’s got ‘Friday Mood’ hand-written in pencil on the front just below the collarbone, a pattern of exclamation marks on the other side. The fabric is worn so thin he can see the darker tone of his skin beneath it in the ceiling’s neon lights. Freddie’s just opening his mouth to start brushing his teeth when he sees it. At first he thinks he’s simply drunk, but it stays the same as he puts the brush down and traces a finger along the edge of the upper row. His teeth have turned sharp. They’re all shaped like incisors now and a little longer than before, a predator’s fangs.

Freddie drops his hand to the edge of the sink, leaning forward as he feels bile rise in his throat. He closes his eyes, tries to calm his breathing as his head starts to spin violently, the drinks catching up, too. His stomach protests immediately at that, but when he rushes over to the toilet there’s nothing there to throw up. Instead of sour, his mouth tastes like salt, that earthy tang you get when you swallow sea water by accident.

  
Behind his eyelids, he sees weaves hit the shore.

*****

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Brian sits down on the steps beside him, shoulders hunched forward against the cold.

He’s in a pair of old joggers and Roger’s baseball jacket, still smelling like smoke and a girl’s perfume.

“Not really, no. You?”

“There are at least three springs digging into my bag and two of the people on the floor have started snoring, so no, me neither.”

  
The dull roar of the traffic drifts over from the other side of the buildings and it feels like they’re outside a club after a long night, except none of them is smoking.

“I think I saw John in the kitchen too and there was a girl trying to sneak into their room about twenty minutes ago already half-naked. Like, I don’t even understand where he gets the motivation, it’s honestly ridiculous.”, Brian continues, one arm casually coming to wrap around Freddie as when he notices him shivering in his thin shirt, which is so unexpected Freddie barely stops himself from flinching. Brian’s body is warm, solid beneath the jacket and it’s more comforting than he’d like to admit.

“What are you thinking about?”, he adds after a few minutes of comfortable silence. His thumb is absent-mindedly tracing patterns along Freddie’s shoulder, head tipped back towards the sky. “Right now.”

There are almost no clouds tonight, just absolute, complete darkness in between the city’s lights with patterns of stars scattered across it like brilliant, broken shreds of glass and a low-hanging half-moon to their right. It’s stunningly beautiful in a cold, detached kind of way that’s not changed or influenced by anything, the sort of thing that shows you very clearly you’re not as important as you think you are.

“They really are amazing.”, he says, because it’s true and safer than telling him he might be growing animal’s teeth and has no idea why.

“That’s Orion, see?”

Brian’s finger points to three stars on their far left, half of the pattern below them hidden behind a house.

“It was the first one my father taught me in school, his favorite.”

“My mom used to do that, too, but she was more into the stories than the actual stars. And they looked different there, bigger. Closer.”

Freddie shifts suddenly, Brian’s hand sliding down his arm with the movement as he turns to face him.

“Do you remember how I told you I wanted to change my last name, something that fits just me, that I can shape and make my own?”

Brian just gives him a look that tells him to keep going, waiting for him to explain, and Freddie grins wildly, the wind tugging at his hair and shirt.

“What do you think about Freddie Mercury?”

*****

It’s a gig in one of the college buildings this time, organized by a guy from Roger’s course he’d partied with a few times, which is probably also the reason they’d been booked as the headlining act. After what happened last time, it’s weirdly relieving to know that.

They’re in the dressing room – an old class-room that hasn’t been used for a long time – Roger and Brian chatting with a beer the bar had given them for free on one of the tables, John tuning his guitar and Freddie in front of the mirror by the sink in the back dabbing the sweat from his neck and chest with a damp towel, when the door’s suddenly thrown open.

Freddie catches a glimpse of a few girls lingering outside in their coats, then Delaney walks in with another guy in an expensive, black suit in tow, taking a sausage roll from the plates they’d snuck in after the show before he turns to face them.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I was really impressed by what you did out there and your –” – he hesitates a moment on the word – “roadie told me he was already packing up your van.”

John has put down his guitar and Freddie can see that careful, subdued look in Roger’s and Brian’s eyes, not quite allowing themselves to believe that this is what they think it is, trying to act like they’re getting visits like this every time they play a gig.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before, I’m John Delaney.”, Delaney continues, eyes drifting to Freddie’s for a moment, “I’m on the A&R Team for Trident Productions and I’d like to offer you a deal.”

Again, his gaze meets Freddie’s, as though he’s waiting for him to interrupt. Freddie bets he’s actually enjoying this, because he knows that Freddie can’t say anything without telling them he’s a modern-day siren with a magical voice and he knows Freddie knows how insane that sounds. He sees the way Brian’s eyes light up, the twitch of his hands at his sides, and it’s enough to make a weave of wild rage flower up beneath his ribs, turn the air he’s sucking in into flames. The worst part is that this moment, hearing that sentence had been what he’d been dreaming of since he’d been nine years old and playing on his aunt’s piano in a tiny flat in India and now this guy’s turned it into a cheap farce.

“What kind of deal?”, Roger asks, voice deliberately even. He’s put down his beer and he’s got the same look of incredulous excitement in his eyes.

“One of our old acts dropped out last month and we’ve been looking for a replacement, something exciting for the younger crowds.”

Delaney reaches into the breast-pocket of his suit and pulls out a business card, handing it to Brian who’s sitting closest to him.

“Why don’t you come over to my office this Friday at 12.30 and we discuss the details properly. I’ll get a few preliminary contracts ready by then, so we have something concrete to work with.”

It sounds so utterly like a B-movie dialogue that Freddie wonders how they don’t notice that something is wrong. Then again, the human brain has an amazing ability to tune out things that don’t make sense once someone wants something badly enough. You can make a king out of a beggar if you love him like that.

“I think that shouldn’t be a problem.”, Roger says.

“Yeah, we’ll be there.”, Brian says.

John just nods quietly.

“Thank you.”

None of them notice that Freddie doesn’t say anything and John Delaney just shots him a teasing wink as he turns back around towards the door.

“Lovely, see you then.”

*****

It’s just flashes, mostly, little pieces he can’t quite place that suddenly start playing on repeat in his mind. He doesn’t recognize any people or places in them except for a girl with long, black hair and a bright red Sari that he’s only seen on black and white photos before, which is also why he knows that it can’t be memories. Not his own, at least. The girl is his mother, but long before he was born in a large part of the scenes, somewhere in her early twenties.

In some, she’s five or six months pregnant, cooking at an old gas-oven with the sounds of an Indian city drifting in through the window and she’s singing as she stirs the food in the pan. He can distinctly hear the tune, the sound of her voice, although she’d barely ever sung to him or his sister when they were little.

  
The one he sees most often is from a time where she must have been about the age Freddie is now, sitting barefoot and shivering on a beach somewhere, her clothes damp and ripped and a blue vial in her hand. Something important must obviously have happened before that, but he never sees that part. He doesn’t know where she is, either, it could be India, too, Zanzibar, or any Island or coastline somewhere in or along the Pacific ocean. He just feels her pain, the all-consuming loneliness, the chocking sense of being about to do something wrong you won’t be able to reverse. Her wide trousers and top are blue that time, like the vial. She looks around, obviously frightened, like she’s expecting someone to follow her, then the image cuts.

Freddie wonders if he’s actually losing his mind now.

*****

He’s out with Roger in Kensington market, trying on a white blouse in the makeshift changing rooms of a stall close to theirs, when he sees them. There’s barely any light, the whole thing made of thick Persian curtains draped over a rickety construction of old, wooden wine-boxes, so he feels them while pulling of his shirt before he catches sight of them in the mirror: raised, dark pink scars that look like scratches from a bird’s claws just below and across the upper part of his ribs. It’s like the creepy version of finding a bruise in the shower after a drunken night out without having any idea why or how you got it, except that Freddie doesn’t even know when this is supposed to have happened. They definitely hadn’t been there this morning. He’s not even surprised anymore at the disconnected feeling and vague panic that follows, it seems like it’s been there the entire time anyway.

“How does it look?”, Roger’s voice calls from the stall beside him.

Freddie drops his shirt onto the floor and reaches for the blouse.

“Just a moment, I’ll be right out.”

*****

“I’ve never actually told this story to anyone, you know.”

Freddie’s mother puts the tray with their tea-cups down on the table before she sits down next to him and there’s a bit of hesitation in the movement that’d never been there before, like she’s not quite sure if he’d allow it. It’s the fine porcelain set with painted blue flowers her mother had given her as a wedding gift when she’d moved in with his father that she only takes out when she’s especially nervous about someone. Her shoes are carefully chosen as well, small, red heels she’d only worn once at his sister’s wedding.

Her hair’s neatly drawn together at the back of her neck like she’d always done to keep them from pulling at it when they were little, a cardigan thrown on over her wool-dress. Even the sweet, delicate perfume she’s wearing is still the same he remembers from his childhood.

“Do you still take sugar?”

The words are quiet, as though she’s embarrassed to have to ask at all.

She’d brought a plate packed full of sweets out, too, still warm from the oven and smelling delicious.

“Two, thank you. And milk.”

He watches her prepare the drink, eyes flickering to the books laying on the table. Old family albums from the time before he’d gone to boarding school and his last few years at school in Zanzibar. There hadn’t been much to photograph once they’d arrived here in London and first he and then his sister had gone to college. He hadn’t been home in almost a year before today.

“So, I’m assuming they’ve found you, which is exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid my whole life. I only managed it so long because your father was constantly moved somewhere else and Zanzibar in particular is a very special place with its own rules that made it easier to hide. When your father got a job there it was the best thing that  
could have happened to us.”

“Why hide?”.

“Because they have a very strict codex and view of how you should use what you have.”

She takes her cup up, but doesn’t drink, just cradles it between her hands.

“Normally, they take children as soon as they’re able to, usually two years at the latest. They believe the earlier they learn how to use their gifts, the stronger and more effective they get, so they train them vigorously until they’re eighteen in special facilities that they’ve set up in most countries of the world.”

“How do they even find them?”

“We have a sort of …signature, that you can sense. Hear. A certain tone beneath our actual voice. They look for that in the parents and then take the any kids they have. Plus, they have pretty exhaustive registers.”

Freddie’s gaze drifts back to the albums.

“What if the father or mother is human?”

“The kids are usually not. Your sister was one of the very few who took after their human parent.”

“So India, that school, was just a convenient plan to hide me?”

It sounds more hurt than he’d expected, even after all this years. She’d never understood and he knows she won’t now. He’d never expected her to. There’s too much she doesn’t know, too much he never told her about that time.

“I had to get you away somewhere where they couldn’t – or wouldn’t think to – look for you. It was ideal.”

He can feel his mother’s eyes on him and she suddenly puts her cup down and reaches up to tuck a stand of hair behind his ear, something she hadn’t done in years.

“And my aunt? Did she know? Is that why she paid for my piano lessons?”

“No. She just observed what you did and supported it.”

“What about Dad?”

“No, he doesn’t know either. I didn’t think he had to.”

Freddie turns to her so sharply he almost knocks the plate of sweets off the table.

“They could have taken both his children and you didn’t think he had to?”

His mother smiles sadly, the kind of smile that has a million stories and endless nights of pain behind it, bittersweet and longing.

“That’s why I became human. I was in no register before I married your father and as soon as I did it they had no real chance – or interest – in finding me.”, she says gently, her hand coming to rest on Freddie’s knee, “It allowed us to live a happy life. Allowed to life you a happy life.”

“What about Kash?”

“Same as your dad. I never told her – about you or me.”

“Do you miss it?”

The smile is a little brighter this time as she gives his knee a brief squeeze, then takes her hand away to get the kettle and refill her cup.

“Sometimes. But I don’t regret doing it.”

Her eyes come to rest on the photo album for a moment, casually, like she’s not even really aware she’s doing it.

“How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Become human.”

She stops in the middle of re-filling her tea cup, carefully setting the kettle back onto the porcelain tile on the table.

“You make a choice and drink.”

He’s known her long enough to hear the unspoken questions behind it, even now, and to know that she’s not happy about what he’s getting at.

“Have you already met Mary, the blonde one in the book-shop?”

“Yeah, I think so. She’s the one who send me to John Delaney. Why?”

She pauses, and he can tell that she’s thinking about her own experiences again, how it was like when she did it and that she doesn’t want him to go through that, too. He still knows her well enough that she doesn’t have to say it out loud. And she still knows him well enough to know that he’s never been the kind of person to let others tell him what to do.

“If you’re really sure, she’ll tell you what to do.”

*****

“So, the deal I can offer you right now is a one-album contract, including studio-use during down-times, and if we like what we hear we’ll take it to all the major record companies trying to secure you a full record deal, both in the UK and in America.”

Freddie watches them sign after barely an hour of discussion and with no lawyers to check it for them.

He’s the last one, Brian’s eyes on him the entire time.

*****

The mysterious appeal had always been part of why Freddie’d loved Biba.

It’s a maze of corridors, plants with pale pale-petaled flowers growing up along the walls and columns and dim, colored lighting reflected by delicate glass-chains strung along the ceiling. The shops are tucked into the cavernous spaces between the columns - brass stands, fairy lights and changing rooms covered with silky curtains –, flashing signs showing the way. Even the sale’s assistants look like something unreal, dreamlike, in their perfectly fitting skirts, silk blouses, and red lipstick. There’s a brief moment where it hits Freddie just how irrational and insane what he’s doing is, looking for a secret sect of beautiful girls and boys who tempt humans into a state of perpetual drug-daze, and he’s very tempted to turn around.

He’s passed that point a long time ago, though, he realizes, the moment he went to a book-shop and slowly started to believe a stranger telling him he was a mythical creature. He’s got no choice but to move follow that path all the way to the end now.

  
Still, he’s got no real clue where to start or what to look for. Any of the shops could be one of those hide-outs, which means the girl could be literally anywhere in here, just like those other beings - if they actually exist. She might not even be with them. And even if he finds them, there’s no guarantee that they have that potion or are going to give it to him willingly.

From what Odysseus said, they might have an interest in things staying exactly as they are – and again, that’s assuming he’s telling the truth.

“Can I help you?”

One of the sale assistants appears beside him, eyes flicking to the trousers Freddie’s looking at. He’d not even noticed he’d take them out.

“Those are good ones.”, she says, immediately, automatically, “They’re meant for girls, but I’ve sold a few to guys as well, if you find the right size they have an absolutely amazing fit in all the places you want them to. High-quality satin.”

She looks him up and down for a moment, all professionalism.

“And they’re going to fit your look. I love the jacket.”

“Do you have them in white?”

“We might, yeah, let me check.”

Two other girls are at the cash register, none of them the right one.

“What’s your size?”

“I’m not sure for this one, to be honest.”

Her sleeve slides up when she takes the hanger from him and his eyes catch on a little tattoo on the inside of her wrist, a stylized lily. The ancient Greek flower of sleep and unaware bliss. Or, more likely, he’s actually starting to lose his mind and she just got it because she thought it looked pretty.

“Alright, I’ll just check in the back.”, she says when she apparently doesn’t find what she’s looking for, “it’s the new collection, we’ve just started to put them in.”

Logically, the only option is straight-forward asking and check for the reaction, even if it’s just disbelieving weariness. But technically even that could be acting, a front. There’s no safe boundary anymore, nothing to separate reality from fiction and it’s the most frightening thing he’s ever experienced.

“What are you doing here?”

Freddie literally jumps at the voice, hitting his elbow on the shelf behind him as he whirls around towards its general direction. It’s the girl from the book-shop, Mary, wearing a flower-pattered, dark blue blouse and jeans now, the shop logo of a store he saw on his way in on her name tag. From the steaming coffee cup in her hand, she’s probably on her lunch break.

“Looking for you, actually.”

Mary looks around with a scary kind of immediate instinct that immediately makes Freddie’s heart pick up, then grabs his hand and tucks him around a corner into a quieter corridor. A pair of girls are talking on the opposite side of the corridor, shopping bags in hand and it somehow makes the whole situation even more surreal.

“Did you bring the book?”

“No.”, he says, focusing back on Mary. “But I’ve been told books are not the only thing you have to sell.”

“By whom?”

“My mother. She seems to know you pretty well.”

That’s enough for her to understand, he can see it in the way her expression immediately hardens.

“No, believe me, you don’t want to do that.”

“Can you help or not?”

“No. If I’m selling you this stuff, I’m partly responsible for what happens and I can’t afford that with you. You’ve barely scratched the surface of all this.”, she says  
immediately. “Your mother knew, that’s the only reason I did it for her. And because she had you.”

“I know enough to know that I don’t want any part of this. I can’t have any part in this.”

“Your mother did it to keep you alive and be able to offer you a happy childhood. You’re just running because it’s inconvenient.”

“I’m in a rock band trying to make it and have a magic voice that captures people and bends them to my will so yeah, it’s inconvenient.”, Freddie snaps. She doesn’t react, her expression schooled back into something completely, almost inhumanly calm.

“At least give it a little more time.”

“Delaney signed my band. I don’t have any more time.”

“When?”

“Does it matter?”

He wants to scream, hit something.

“He convinced them, they’re going to sign with him and there’s no way he’s ever going to let us out if they do.”

“Did he tell you what he wants?”

“My voice, probably. Just like you.”

Before she can say anything there’s a crash somewhere at their side and he she reaches out to push her behind him with the same kind of quick instinct Freddie saw earlier in the shop, mouth tight and every single muscle coiled. The girls are gone now, two guys standing in their place who look like characters out of a cartoon with blue sunglasses and sparkly suits.

One of them is holding some kind of whip in his hand.

“What the –”

“Run.”

Freddie feels her hand reach between them, something cold and hard pressing against his palm.

“Here. And I know I already said this, but only use it if you’re absolutely sure.”

“Why now?”

“Don’t ask questions, go! And go fast.”

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees two more guys in the same outfit coming out of the men’s restrooms.

“Go!”, she repeats and something about her tone finally snaps him out of it.

A large part of him still thinks this whole thing is an insane joke that can’t possibly be happening. And even if they are who she seems to think they are, there are still ‘normal’ people everywhere in here, shopping, meeting someone, getting coffee, having lunch break, they can’t simply go after him in broad daylight without getting unwanted attention.

Two security guards are hovering in front of the two shops at the end of that corridor alone.

In one of them one of the sale’s assistants is saying something to the girls at the cashier desk, gaze flickering in his direction several time and it’s precisely the surrealness of it all that makes it so chilling. It could be a perfectly normal conversation, the girl leaving for lunch break or asking them to cover while she sneaks off through the back-door for a smoke.

Or she could actually be watching him.

It’s paralyzing and, despite of what Mary said, he can’t bring himself to run yet, fully accept that option. He quickens his step a little and the guys behind him do the same, spread out towards the two walls until they’re almost at his side. The girl has left the shop, a pack of cigarette in her hands, but she doesn’t actually move for the back-door.

Just as the two in front move in, a group of young women somewhere in their thirties walk past them, the one in the middle excitedly showing off the new dress in her bag and they slow their step again, retreating a few steps back towards a door near the entrance. Freddie can see the whip shimmering behind the guy’s back, his eyes still on him behind the sunglasses.

Freddie uses the few moments that give him to move past them more or less at the same time as the women, quickly moving beside a couple with a stroller once he’s out of the corridor and staying at their side for the next few steps. Another group of three guys enters, obscuring their view for a few more seconds as they try to follow him out, but they catch up quickly. On his right, a second girl is leaving her shop, sliding between him and the couple when they enter the next one before she casually matches her pace to his. The business man who’d been behind him has gone into a shop as well, and the guys are almost back at his side now, all of them forming a single front. It’s an absolutely ridiculous sight in between all the stylishly dressed, mostly young people moving around.  
Girl number one is on his left, her cigarettes gone.

There’s an emergency exit in front of him and to the right, but that would lead him into an empty corridor with no cover at all. The front door is too far away for him to make it with them already that close. Another sign points to a row of restaurants to the left and further back into the building, which seems like the only real option that’d give him at least something of a chance if he does it right. It’s lunch-time, they’re bound to be crowded.

Freddie’s hand closes around the vial, then, taking the shortest way past the pizza stand in the middle of the corridor, makes the turn. The girl on the left sees it before the others and automatically moves with him while the one on the right swings to the far wall. He keeps his eyes ahead, refusing himself to look back to check on the rest. The Chinese restaurant near the girl by the wall is the closest, but even if he runs he’s not going to get there before them, so he falls into step beside a guy walking alone in the middle of the corridor.

“Hey, sorry, darling, I’m looking for a good place to take my date, can you recommend any of those?”

They’ve moved to the side, just like Freddie thought they would, hidden behind a small crowd. The second girl has gone into one of the shops opposite, still watching him.

“Not too expensive, you know, poor students and all that.”

The guy just looks at him for a moment, the flushed cheeks and wide eyes, and Freddie forces an encouraging smile.

“The Chinese one is quite nice”, he eventually says, slowly, as though he thinks he’s being made fun of, nodding towards the restaurant where the first girl is waiting, “if you want to take her for drinks afterwards the Italian one is better, though. Great red wine.”

“I was thinking more like, tea and cakes? She loves Earl Grey.”

All of the guys have started moving again, spreading out over the whole width of the corridor.

“Well, the Rainbow room on the top of the building is amazing. And it has a great view, I’ve been there a few times now.”

“Ah I remember, that’s the one with the amazing ceiling, isn’t?”

“Yeah.”

The next restaurant on their side is an Indian one that’s apparently just opened, but it’s still too far away. He needs more time.

“How about drinks, any bars in the area?”

“I couldn’t say, I don’t usually drink here.”

“Where do you drink, then?”

Something passes over the guy’s face, that small flicker of open, curious interest they often don’t even consciously realize they’re giving off because they’d be terrified if they did. It’s usually not worth it to find out where that kind of interest leads. Right now, though, it might be Freddie’s easiest way out of here – for now, at least.

“You know what, actually, why don’t you tell me over lunch?”

“Right now?”

A carefully placed smile, a hand brushing the back of the guy’s between them.

He feels it clench and unclench, chasing the contact.

“How do you feel about Indian?”

“Never tried it.”

“Seriously? That’s simply unacceptable. My treat.”, Freddie adds, and the way the guy finally grins back tells him he’s won.

“Alright, I guess I can be convinced.”

The queue inside the shop is already pretty long, the beginning of the lunch-break in the surrounding offices, and Freddie spots the girl who’d been standing in front of the Chinese restaurant somewhere in the middle of it. Out of the corner of his eye he can see that the guys have gathered in front of a cigarette machine next to the restaurant, too, the second girl nowhere to be seen.

“So, what do you recommend?”, the guy next to him suddenly asks and Freddie has to force himself to focus back on him. “I take it that this is not your first -” He visibly stops himself at the last moment, then finishes with “try.” Despite it all, Freddie can’t help but smirk.

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me, then.”, he says innocently, “Don’t worry I’ll be gentle.”

The guy makes a low noise, trying to cover it up by coughing into his hands and Freddie’s smirk widens.  
A couple in front of them has started fighting at some point, their voices rising suddenly over the quiet murmur of the crowd as the girl jerks her arm away from the guy’s attempts to calm her down. She stomps away, obviously furious, and it’s enough to make everyone’s eyes follow them for a few moments. Freddie presses a quick kiss to his impromptu lunch-date’s cheek and runs, squeezing past the queue in the direction of the counter and further to the door. It’s still open for the personnel’s lunch-break, so he quickly pushes through it into the street, the sound of fast steps picking up behind him.

Just as he passes one of the bins standing against the back-wall of the restaurant-kitchen, he feels someone grab his arm and pull him behind it a moment before the back-door is pushed open again so roughly it hits the stone with an audible clack. Freddie instinctively tries to struggle free and he hears a low groan when his foot hits something, then the other arm is around him too, holding him firmly around the waist. He kicks again, but this time it hits the concrete.

“Shhh it’s me.”

He feels the guy’s chest heave behind him, voice rough.

“Brian?”

Brian lets him go once he’s sure he’s not going to hit him, still leaning against the wall while Freddie turns around in his arms, his hands coming to rest beside his thighs.

“Yeah, it’s me, Freddie. That was very close, though.”

For a moment the relief of just seeing him is overwhelming, the familiarity of his smell and the soft pattern of his breathing.

“What the hell are you doing here?”, he whispers urgently.

“They’re going to figure out we’re here soon, we need to move.”

“They?”

Something about the casual tone of that sentence makes everything in Freddie grind to a halt.

He couldn’t place it before, why it wasn’t just relief he was feeling, but he’s beginning to now. Brian shouldn’t even have seen them. They should have looked like normal guys walking to lunch to him. It should have been Freddie running that he should have found strange.

Several pairs of footsteps are getting closer from the direction of the door and they both look towards the edge of the container where a pair of black military-style boots have appeared. They stay there for a few moments, then a voice shouts ‘all clear’ right before they slowly begin to move away again. Brian’s hand has found its way into his, gently tugging him along the back of the container.

“Who is they?”, Freddie repeats, because it feels like the last bit of security he had in the midst of all this madness is breaking down and he has no idea how to deal with this.

Brian keeps going towards the corner, doesn’t look back.

“Morpheus’ gang.”

Freddie stops completely at that, Brian swaying a little with the abruptness of it.

He knows what Brian’s going to say and how it’s going to hurt, but some part of him, the one that desperately doesn’t want to believe any of this is real, needs to hear him say it.

“How can you know?”

“I already did, Freddie.”

“How?”

The word is so shaky it barely sounds English. He doesn’t even know exactly what it is, anger, frustration, fear, all of them.

“Tell me.”, he adds when Brian doesn’t react, then again, louder, “tell me!”

He snatches his hand from Brian’s and Brian’s stays there, like he doesn’t even notice.

His back is still turned to Freddie, so all Freddie can see is the taunt line of his shoulders, the way he holds himself perfectly still like he’s preparing to pounce.

“Because I belong to that world, too.”, he says after a few moments, “They called me Orpheus back then.”

It makes sense, in a weird kind of way.

Orpheus played the lyre so beautifully even wild animals grew tame, Brian does the same with the instrument that evolved out of it. Of all the cases of guys being assholes he’s had to deal with, this is probably the most creative and somehow, the first thing Freddie can think of saying is:

“So you’re the one who lost his girl in hell. That’s promising.”

Brian finally turns around, gravitating a few steps towards Freddie, but he doesn’t try to reach for his hand again.

“She was my first love, Freddie and she was human and I didn’t know how to deal with it then. I was basically just a hormonal teenager who thought this girl was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen and she was lovely and smart and then – I’ve learned. I’ve learned a lot.”

“Really, so how many of us did you have since then?”

Brian flinches like he’s been slapped, mouth opening, but Freddie interrupts him before he can say anything else. He doesn’t want to know, can’t hear any of whatever excuses he’s trying to make right now.

“You know what, it’s not even about that. If this is true, we’re a band of fucking cheaters.”

“It’s not cheating.”, Brian says calmly, almost bored, like he’s had this conversation countless times. It makes something ice-cold and sickening settle in Freddie’s stomach.

“We both have talents that humans do, too, sometimes in the same measure. They don’t find your voice beautiful because they have to, but because it is. The only difference is that you have that talent because of what you are and only a very specific kind, while humans can have a wide variety that can’t be determined just by their belonging to humankind.”

“That’s not what your charming higher-ups told me.”

“They’re not my higher-ups. I’ve never worked for anybody.”

Freddie laughs, shaking his head.

“You don’t get it, do you? I don’t care. None of it matters now.”

It’s kind of ironic, he thinks. He’d expected disappointment, to be left to pick up the pieces one more time, but he hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected it to sneak in past the scars and actually hurt.

When he slides into the narrow corridor between the buildings on their left where Brian had wanted to take him, leading back down to the street on the other side, Brian’s at least got enough good sense not to follow him.

*****

“He’s really good, I’m impressed.”

Freddie turns around in the stool he’d been sitting in inside the studio’s small control room while Brian was recording the solo for their second song in the booth in front  
of him. They’d been there since half past four in the morning and still had an hour or so before the cleaners came in to get everything ready for the day.

“God, you’re never going to leave me alone, are you?”

“Not likely, no.”

Delaney’s leaning in the doorway, hip propped against the doorframe and a cup of coffee in each hand.

“They’re not stupid, you know that, right? They’re going to figure out that you’re using them for my voice.”

“You think?”

He makes his way towards Freddie until he’s standing on his left at the front of the room, pushing one of the cups over to him before he takes a sip of the other one. Freddie doesn’t even look at it.

“What if I don’t do it.”

“You won’t.”, Delaney says immediately. “Because if you do, you’ll have to explain to them and not to me why you’re acting irrational and stopping them from finishing their debut album. That’s what I’m using them for.”

“Who guarantees that you'll even be able to use it?”

“Experience.”

Brian’s just finished his take, looking towards them as his fingers glide from the strings, and shakes his head, obviously not happy. He holds up a finger to show them he’s going to try again as Delaney leans forward to press the button for the intercom in front of Freddie.

“Try it a little faster in the end, roughen it up. You’re doing great.”

“If it’s that easy, why didn’t you just record one of our concerts?”

Delaney shots him a side-grin, eyes still half on Brian.

“I did.”

“Then why?”

“Maybe I just wanted to humiliate you.”

It’s not helpless anger that comes this time, it’s scarier - the kind of cool, all-consuming contempt that made Homer’s gods burn cities and eat human flesh without caring about the consequences and he wonders if that’s a part of him that’s changing, too. The sharpened teeth on the inside.

“And it’s still better to have the original.”, Delaney adds while he fiddles with one of the levers on the desk, “as long as you’re on my label I’m going to produce you and organize and manage your tours, which means I’m going to decide when and where you sing and, more importantly, what to do with that.”

He leans back, still watching Brian, as he takes another sip of his coffee.

“See it as your free course in how to use your powers. Mary tried, and you didn’t listen, maybe you will now.”

Brian’s half-closed his eyes, hands sliding over the strings with smooth, effortless elegance and something about the way Delaney is looking at him makes the pieces finally fall together.

“You know about him, too, don’t you?”, he asks, sitting up straighter in his chair, “That’s what you’re not telling me. Why you wanted the whole band.”

“That he’s Orpheus? Yeah, I do.”

Delaney keeps his gaze on Brian, the cup cradled in his hands now.

“I also know that you’re both ridiculously into each other, which is very convenient for me.”

“Does he know who you are?”

A little smirk tugs at the corner of Delaney’s mouth.

“I had a talk with him. He was smart enough to keep quiet.”

He stands up from his chair, snatching up Freddie’s cup as he goes.

“What a waste of perfectly good coffee. That was good, come out for a second please.”, he says into the intercom. Now he’s not playing it’s suddenly incredibly obvious how tired Brian looks, his movements sluggish and just a little off and Freddie’s not sure he’s even heard him

Delaney turns again at the bin he’d thrown his coffee cup into, and says casually “You’re up next.” before he walks through the door and lets it fall shut behind him.

*****

“Freddie, I’m sorry I –”

Freddie throws his jacket onto a chair somewhere, kicking of his shoes as he moves towards the bed Brian’s sitting on.

“Stop talking.”

Brian’s mouth immediately drops open slightly and he watches him quietly as Freddie puts a deliberate hand on his chest to push him back into the cushions, settling in between his legs. His other hand comes up, too, as he moves to the buttons of Brian, slowly, one at a time, the light from the corridor tracing stark patterns on his face. He’s never seen Freddie’s eyes like that, dark fire and fierce, unforgiving defiance, the kind that can destroy entire cities. It’s breathtaking and Brian’s suddenly, forcefully reminded that Freddie is not just Tim’s friend he met a year ago, but an incredibly powerful, mystical being who can wreck lives and break hearts with just a note from his mouth. He undresses Brian quickly, almost mechanically, like he has a point to prove, though Brian doesn’t know whether it’s to him or to himself. When Freddie’s hands move down to Brian’s flies, Brian’s breath catches on a low moan and Freddie’s eyes immediately snap up from where he’s working on the button.

“I said be quiet.”

Once the jeans is thrown somewhere he sits back on his heels to pull off his own shirt, his body a beautiful curve of lean, long lines in the half-darkness and Brian can’t look away as his hands drop to his own flies, pull down the zipper. When Freddie starts to sink down on him he makes a ragged, helpless sound, hips jerking upwards, just as Freddie moans, his eyes closing briefly at the sensation. Freddie’s fingers slide in between his, pulling Brian’s hands up and above his head while he leans down to kiss him, hot and open-mouthed and with the same kind of defiant fierceness. He moves slowly, almost all the way out before sliding down again, dragging his bottom lip against Brian’s until he has to turn his head to pant against Brian’s cheek.

His teeth graze over Brian’s jaw, sharp and teasing, his breath warm against Brian’s skin and that alone is enough to make him moan again with the knowledge of what he could do if he wanted to. There’s no way Brian could stop him right now. He’s seen it happen, more than once, the way man lost their minds until all that was left was piles of cracked wood and bloodied water and there’s more than one way to end up like that. Sometimes, they’re even more painful. His back arches against Freddie, his hips jerking, and Freddie groans and moves again, a little faster, dragging his lips over Brian’s collarbone as Brian’s wrists twitch in his hold. Freddie’s fingers slip on his wrists with the next roll of his hips, gasping into Brian’s neck while Brian moves his hands to slide up Freddie’s thighs to the small of his back. He can feel the raised marks under his fingertips, the curve of Freddie’s ribs beneath the skin as his hands shift with the movement of Freddie’s body.

“What are you doing to me?”, Freddie pants against the pulse in Brian’s neck.

Brian wishes he knew.

*****

Rationally, he knows how much could go wrong.

He’s got no idea what this liquid is or what it’s going to do to his body, hadn’t seen any point in asking since it’s the only option he has anyway. He could die. He could be left in some kind of coma no one knows how to deal with. He could lose his voice completely.

But even that, which might be the worst of those options, is still better than having something inside him he has no control over, relying on someone other than himself to shape his life and reach his dreams. If it’s his choice, his work that gets him there, he’d rather not have it at all. Not have anything at all. It’s strange in a way, how clearly you see some things once you’re forced to confront them. How easy some decisions are.

Freddie looks at himself in the mirror, hands on the sides of the sink. It’s still got the crack on the right side Roger’s first girlfriend always complained about when she stayed the night, running in jagged lines across his cheek and down his neck. A ‘Smile’ in faded, black felt-tip pen from one of their drunken nights a few months after Tim introduced him to them is still visible beside them near the bottom. Right now, it feels oddly cynical, somehow.

The container Mary gave him is a small, light blue vial filled to the brim with a clear, thick liquid that looks like it’s going to taste absolutely disgusting. The vial from the snippets he’d been seeing. It’s cold in his hand and seems too small to really be able to do something this momentous.  
This time when the scene of his mother on the beach flashes behind his eyes, he sees the ending. She pulls up her hand with the vial, her fingers shaking, and uncaps it clumsily while still looking around for anyone who might be coming onto the beach after her. The cap drops into the sand, a weave lapping at it until it’s washed into the current. They’re soaking her dress as well, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Slowly, she raises it to her lips, so dark they look almost blue from the cold of the water and being in damp clothes for who knows how long, and dips it back.

_Sometimes. But I don’t regret doing it._

It’s not horrible, in the end, tastes like sea and the spices of his childhood. Maybe it’s like that for everyone, digging up their deepest memories. The vial hits the tiles beside him, shattering into colored pieces. His arteries feel like they’re swelling up, the skin pulling from the bones, but oddly, it doesn’t really hurt, more like the uncomfortable feeling of a stone in your shoe.

Then everything fades into white static.

*****

“God, finally!”

  
The noises around him still sounds distorted, stretched and dull like it’s coming from far away, then everything comes crashing back at once with sharp, overwhelming clarity. A door crashing shut, people talking on the corridor. A dog barking outside. The bathroom floor is cold beneath his back and his lungs are still burning, throat so hot and dry that it almost hurts to breathe. He tries to say that, anything, but all that comes out is a chocked, dry sound. Brian’s face swims into focus above him, hair falling into his face and eyes unnaturally bright like he’s been crying.

“I thought you were dead, I thought –”

The sentence dies on a rough, shaky breath, and Freddie’s suddenly aware that Brian’s other hand is resting gently, almost absent-mindedly on his stomach.

His fingers are cold, even through the fabric of Freddie’s shirt.

“You could have killed yourself, Freddie.”, he repeats, voice trembling, “how could you do that? How could you make a decision like that without telling me, asking for help.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”, Freddie says when he finally manages to form the words, “that’s all that matters. And it’s not your fault, none of it.”, he adds, looking at Brian who’s staring at his hands, shoulders twitching helplessly with his rapid breathing.

“It is. I didn’t tell you, I could have –”

“I don’t think it’s very polite to argue with someone who almost died.”

It has the desired effect and Brian lets out a startled laugh, wiping away a few tears with his sleeve before he meets his eyes again.

“Yeah, probably.”

For a brief moment, the pictures of his mother flash up again, the way she’d sounded absolutely sure when she’d said that she never regretted giving up her voice, or at least the power it held, and now, seeing Brian, he thinks he understands why.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did. Comments/kudos are always appreciated of course and if you want to come to talk to me about Maycury or anything else I'm on tumblr @ wordwhisper.tumblr.com/ask (there's also a post for this fic on there somewhere in case you want to share that).


End file.
